


Past His Prime

by sdwbf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Restraints, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwbf/pseuds/sdwbf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have to do a follow-up job. Sure it's in a bdsm club, but they've played around before so what's the big deal? At least that had been Dean's thought until he found himself feeling over-the-hill and Sam surrounded by a host of drooling, gorgeous twinks. Based on <a href="http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/56541.html?thread=15362013#t15362013">this prompt</a> at SPNkink Meme; however, I have come to realize it is not a good enough fit for it so I'm crediting the inspiration, but not claiming a fill. </p><p>Posted to Live Journal March 11, 2010</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past His Prime

**Author's Note:**

> Boys are their current ages and hunters, but in a non-'demon-blood, went the Hell, fought the Apocalypse, met angels, etc.' reality. I found the pose intriguing, but the photo itself fairly unattractive and some of the touches unappealing. So I used the basics, but Dean's totally naked and not wearing a hood in this. I just couldn't get the verbal humiliation into this, so I let most of it be what Dean was feeling before Sam made it all better which makes it a totally bad fill for the prompt.
> 
> Also, I don't play, so, while I tried, this is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of the bdsm scene.

  
**Past His Prime** by sdwbf

There was stupid and there was stupid, but Dean Winchester figured his current plan would go down in the annuals of Epically Stupid Ideas of All Time. He leaned back against the polished wood of the bar and gave his latest 'suitor' a shake of the head with a weary smile he hoped softened the rejection.

The sub gave him a pretty pout most doms would have found irresistible, then glided off in search of someone with better taste when even that failed to get a rise out of Dean – figuratively or literally. The boy – and God, when had he started thinking of even twenty-one year-olds as boys? – quickly joined the growing crowd of hopefuls around the new dom who was far more into their fawning attentions. Shit.

Dean wanted to look away and did, but, much as he longed to, he couldn't turn to the bar and lose himself in a drink. Because odd as it might seem he and his brother had come to one of the hottest gay bdsm clubs in San Francisco on a job. He took another small sip from the beer bottle he'd been nursing all night and tried to refocus his mind by going over the details of the case again.

Jo Harvelle and her partner, Jake Tully, had originally stumbled on it – bodies piling up in Frisco without a shred of DNA evidence despite obvious sexual activity of the sort practiced in clubs like this. They'd investigated – during off hours – figured out they had a vengeful spirit – some dom who'd gotten himself killed by a drunk driver on his way home from here a year back. Not the usual drill, but spirits did tend to prefer haunting places versus totaled SUVs long since scrapped. They did the usual salt and burn drill and the killings stopped. For three months. Then they started back up again. Gave the chosen haunting site more significance, but Jo and Jake were caught up in another case and their great hetero-love for one another made casing this joint problematic, so Ellen had called in Dean and Sam.

About gave both of them a heart attack until they figured out she thought their sputtering was over not wanting to pretend to be into bdsm. The gay hadn't been an issue, and she knew it. Dean had never hidden his fondness for members of his own sex, and Sam had never had issues with it. Good thing since the cock showing Dean's ass a good time night after night belonged to his baby brother. As did the overly large hands that liked to tie Dean up and play with his helpless body in all sorts of delicious ways. So yeah, something of a relief to find out she'd only called them because 1) they were less than a day's drive away, 2) had knowledge of the area from Sam's days at Stanford and 3) at least Dean could fit in. Because the alternative was that the closet thing they had to a mom knew they'd been fucking and playing since Sam's aforementioned time in Palo Alto.

Dean shifted, his leather trousers getting snug for the first time this miserable night at the memory of that first time. Sam had called him all drunk and maudlin about breaking up with Jessica Moore in the middle of his junior year. Since Dean had known they'd been shopping for rings he'd pretty much raced to his little brother's side. Biggest mistake or best move of his life depending on when he thought about it and tonight he was definitely coming down on the mistake side of things.

He'd arrived in town while Sam was nursing the tail end of a hangover from Hell, asked him what had happened and his brother had announced, "She wasn't you, you jerk." Dean had blushed and lowered his eyes beneath the outrage in Sam's eyes. His brother had hauled him over his lap and spanked Dean's bare ass long and hard enough he'd been unable to sit comfortably for days. He'd also come twice. Sam had fucked him for the first time the next morning.

Until that day Dean had done a masterful job of pretending he didn't know Sam wanted him, and even as he'd squirmed and sobbed beneath Sam's hand he could have stopped it. Certainly hadn't needed to spread his legs for a contrite Sam in the aftermath, but Sam had always mastered him. Letting him buckle a collar around his neck three or four times a week just made it official.

And that was what was so spectacularly stupid about Dean's plan. He was and always had been a total submissive when it came to sex. Almost to underscore the thought, a dom caught his eye and gave him a nod. Took everything Dean had not to drop his gaze or hit his knees like some fucking Pavlovian bitch. Eyes practically watered from the effort and the only thing that let him nod back was the thought of Sam's reaction if his bitch knelt to another dom. Would make that first spanking feel like a love tap which was so fucking unfair given how Sam was fucking preening at all the subby-attention he was getting.

It wasn't that Dean couldn't normally look any man in the eye or even take down any dom in the place with one hand tied behind his back. But this wasn't 'normally.' Hunting and playing – two things always meant to stay separated suddenly thrown together was seriously fucking with his equilibrium. Worse, he needed to move freely around the place, needed to have his mind in hunter-mode, not lost in the bliss of submission, so they'd both agreed he needed to pretend to be a dom. Shouldn't have been this hard, damnit!

He was shy! Probably cripplingly so except after Mom had died he'd had to get over himself and stay strong to protect Sammy and back up Dad. Had lost his voice for almost a year to that inner struggle coupled with his grief, but he'd managed it. Had managed to come off as the biggest badass in any room – assuming Dad wasn't there, too – since before his age had hit the double digits and he was fucking 34 now! This should _not_ be a problem! But God fucking damnit, it was.

He wanted his collar! He wanted Sam to send him flying into his zone so he could stop thinking how fucking pretty all the subs courting Sam were and how the lines around his own eyes had deepened during the last couple of years. Instead he got to stand here pretending he was at least looking for an ass to fuck while trying not to come apart at the seams from the scent of leather and arousal.

Tried so hard not to glance in Sam's direction again. Hey, he didn't need to. Sam had that part of the club covered – was the whole point of splitting up after all – but he couldn't help himself. To reward his foolishness he was just in time to watch a kid who looked uncomfortably like him kneel in front of Sam. Or at least like Dean had looked fourteen years ago when his kid brother had decided girls were great, but Dean was sexier.

Sam must have recognized the similarities, too, because he grinned. The bitch. Served him right for looking and he forced his gaze away while he tried not to think about how flexible the new kid looked while, between his age and years' worth of injuries, Dean had trouble holding some of the positions Sam wanted them to try.

Wasn't usually a problem. They had to make do with life on a road and cheap motels. Meant Sam locked him into harnesses and restraints that worked with door knobs and mattresses without sturdy headboards. But he'd seen Sammy eyeing stuff earlier that made his joints ache at the thought and not in the 'oh, God, yes' sort of way. Damn. He'd always figured he'd lose Sam to someone younger and prettier one day, that his brother would realize he wasn't just gay for Dean and there were far better fish in the sea for him to play with, but he'd thought he had another ten or so years. Might have if he'd been the dom in the relationship, but he was playing the role normally occupied by some gorgeous twink, not an aging brother who was far more trouble than he was probably worth.

He felt the sting of tears in his eyes and bit his lip to stop them. Damnit! He needed to keep his mind and his mindset clear or someone else was going to die tonight! No way he wanted to deal with the guilt of that on top of losing Sam to a shiny new 'toy.' Be a lot easier if practically every fucking eye in the place wasn't trained on Sammy and his oh, so proportional package and chiseled abs. Fuck.

Dean knew he was handsome, knew he was fit, but he was real-life fit, not gym-fit and for the first time he really regretted not joining Sam in his 'ode to vanity' workouts versus simply sparing. Every sub in the place seemed to be panting over his brother while every dom wanted to be him or beat his face in for being so damned perfect. Didn't matter Dean almost always won when they sparred, that he was the faster, smarter fighter or that he could outrun Sammy over distances. Here appearances were everything and he looked old and almost flabby like some pathetic loser who'd crammed himself into leather trousers to capture his lost youth or something. Fuck, he wanted to get out of here. But it was a job, not a night out.

He glanced toward Sam to see him talking to some red-headed twink as well as Dean's 'look alike' and wondered if he could have stalled off the inevitable for a few more months if he'd been collared and kneeling at Sam's feet where he belonged. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and felt the ache of bare skin where leather should have rested.

He pushed his hand into the pocket of the leather jacket covering his bare torso, then clenched his fist hard enough for his nails to dig into his flesh. Pain, not the sexy kind, flashed up his arm and helped center him, let him draw in a deep breath and calm down enough to focus. Job. On a job.

Something had drawn the spirit of Jonas Harper here after a death suffered on the other side of the city. Had held it here after the destruction of his body. Normally that meant some piece of the body remained – blood, hair, something. But the club was meticulous in keeping things clean so it had to be an object that had been important to Jonas. Trouble was the rooms were full of equipment, much of it custom made with no clear record of who had made/donated/left what.

Owner was aware enough of what was going on that he'd given two hunters a free pass to explore the place, but no way would he authorize a wholesale bonfire. Even then it could be something hidden away and safe from anything short of burning the place to the ground. Awesome.

He sighed, took another sip of his beer, then suppressed a shudder. Gone flat and warm. Time for another bottle even if this one was still half-full. He turned toward one of the bartenders, but before he could open his mouth a coldness swept through him. Couple of guys near him shivered, too, and a moment later a voice said, "Let me."

Jonas, or rather his spirit, stood beside him, a friendly smile on his face. Guy was the type commonly referred to as a bear – furry and husky. Tall, too. Almost matched Sammy's height and he was broader in the shoulder. Sort of man to make someone like Dean feel all cozy and safe. Except for the part where the dude was a homicidal ghost, but hey, no one was perfect.

He went with is instincts and let his gaze drop enough to look alluring, but not enough to completely take his eyes off the dangerous, evil thing. "Sure."

An icy hand settled on the small of Dean's back as another waved to the bartender, then pointed at Dean's bottle. Shouldn't have been that easy – the place was packed and the four dudes manning the bar were obviously getting their asses kicked, but one of them snapped around and immediately got Dean's beer. Apparently good old Jonas had been around long enough to get a lot of control over the regulars. Awesome.

He faked a long swallow from the bottle and followed it up with a satisfied sigh. "Thanks, I needed that."

"Doesn't seem like the switch hitting is working out for you, sweetheart."

Shit. Was it that obvious or was that more spirit juju? He let his eyes sort of drop again. And did some fast thinking. They'd never been able to find a pattern that fit the victims beyond they had all been here at least once. But that description fit a lot of people and there had been no other similarities in appearance or preferences to narrow things down, but something one of the victim's friends had said fit with the pick-up line – 'Wils had never seemed all that comfortable in his own skin.'

Instinct screamed for him to go with it and he shrugged. "Not sure you can call it switching if you've never played the other part, dude." Made his voice sound like he was trying to sound firm while his gaze lifted with a similar 'forced' effort.

Jonas chuckled, but it had a bitter edge to it. Score one for instinct. "So you're telling me you want some pretty thing to play with?" he asked, his finger rubbing the seam of Dean's trousers right over his hole.

The coldness of the touch made him gasp. "I … yes?"

"Or maybe you just think that's what you should want, when all you really want to do is let me take you to one of the back rooms."

Back rooms. Where most of the stuff was. To encourage the idea, he pushed back against the thumb trying to fuck him through the leather barrier. "No, I … My dad."

Cold lips silenced him and thank fuck he could let himself surrender and stop with the stupid role play. Never had gotten into that part of a fun and games – did too much of it as it was on the job to find it sexy most of the time.

He didn't dare glance toward Sam as Jonas guided him toward the playrooms, but he would so kick Gigantor's ass if he was too busy picking out Dean's replacement to notice Dean needed back up.

The idea that Jonas was taking him straight to what was keeping his spirit Earth-side pretty much came up Yatzee when the ghost passed two rooms before sending the occupants of a third scurrying out for reasons they probably wouldn't remember clearly. Dean might have been in similar dazed trouble except he knew what he was dealing with and, contrary to current circumstances, had never denied his sexuality or preferences. Let him keep focused while Jonas selected a collar from a box of them.

It had a hand-tooled look to it, but was too ornate to be really useful in games which explained its fairly unused look. "You make that for yourself?" he asked quietly.

"What?"

"Big strong man like you. Easy enough for everyone to assume you were a dom and you went along with it while dreaming of someone who'd see the real you and buckle that around your neck. You killing anyone else who dared wear it or just anyone too insecure to be themselves?"

He expected the howl of outrage and the rush of spectral fury. He met it head on with an arch of salt from the bag in his pocket. Had to leave enough to take care of the dropped collar, but what he had to spare did the job and dispersed Jonas. He all but pounced on the tooled leather, sprinkling it with the remaining salt and the contents of a vial of lighter fluid – all he could carry in clothes designed to put his assets on display, not for storage.

His lighter caught, but before he could drop it Jonas appeared again and Dean braced himself for a flight across the room and a collision with the wall. But suddenly Sam was there, the iron links of the belt he'd been wearing scattering Jonas long enough for Dean to light things up.

With a howl the ghost vanished. So case closed and time to get out of here. For one moment Dean felt the usual glow of satisfaction of victory and thank God Sam had followed him. Damn. That single thought reminded him why he'd feared Sam might not and okay, so yeah, nothing to celebrate tonight. He sighed, his shoulders slumped. "I'll see you back at the hotel," he said, feeling exhausted and all too aware of how old and broken down he must look compared to the new models waiting for Sam. "Have fun."

Turning on his heel, he made for the front door and his baby in the parking lot beyond. Had a horrible feeling things would go back to the Stanford years of just him and his car, but then again, maybe that was for the best. Didn't want to be alone, but if watching Sam go off to play with others was the alternative, maybe it would be for the best.

A hand grabbed his arm, yanking him off balance then shoving him up against the wall. Assuming some dom had decided to get aggressive, he tensed up ready to fight, but he found himself facing Sam. And he looked pissed. "What the hell?" his brother snapped. No, not his brother. His dom. Oh, God, did Sam expect him to watch or something?

He tried to summon up some 'outraged older brother' mojo, but Sam smelled of leather and sex, calling up a whole other mindset. One he'd been struggling against all night. Didn't have anything left in him to fight off the tears. "Please, I know I'm not …" His gaze slid to the side where he could see some of Sam's groupies fairly swooning over the display of temper. "I'm …" his voice dropped to a hollow whisper, "I'm old." Too old to keep playing with someone as hot as Sam, too old to be anything but pathetic. "Do what … you want. Just … please, don't make me watch."

For a brief moment absolute fury twisted Sam's features – the sort of rage normally reserved for something that had just tried to hurt Dean – then he softened, one of his huge hands reaching up to cup Dean's jaw. "You really have no idea, do you?"

He couldn't stop himself from leaning into the touch, his eyes closing as a tear spilled from each.

Sam's thumb brushed them away and his breath was a gentle puff against Dean's ear. "All the strutting around you do, but you don't really get how incredibly beautiful you are."

Should have made him smile, but after watching Sam flirt with pretty young things all evening, it felt like he was being mocked, and more tears spilled. This time Sam licked them up before capturing Dean's mouth in a long kiss. When Sam drew back he whispered, "Wrap your legs around me, baby."

Dean might be upset and heart sick, but he didn't know how not to follow Sam's orders in situations like this so he let Sam lift him as Dean wrapped his arms around broad shoulders and his legs around trim hips. He pressed his face, against the side of Sam's neck and tried not to think as his dom turned and carried him, not out of the club, but back toward the playrooms.

He trembled and held on tighter remembering all those gadgets that had so fascinated Sam earlier. Best case scenario, Sam had decided he was going to prove to Dean how young and nubile he still was. Except he wasn't. No way he could handle them. He'd have to safe word before Sam even finished setting things up. Be lucky if he even untied him before going off to find someone else to play with.

"Shhh, baby, it's all right," Sam soothed. "Trust me."

Dean did. With everything. He just didn't trust himself to be anything more than a disappointment. He didn't open his eyes when Sam set him down on a table. Maybe if he didn't look, he wouldn't tense up as much? Sam helped his slip off his jacket to further reveal firm but definitely not chiseled muscle. He could hear murmurs and shivered as it sunk in that Sam had carried him into one of the rooms that allowed observers. All of them obviously cataloging how inadequate he must look compared to Sam's Greek-god physique.

He opened his mouth to whimper, to beg Sam to let him go, not to do this to him, but a kiss stopped the words.

"Trust me," Sam whispered again, then began to kiss his way up and down the column of Dean's neck. Felt so good it began to push back against Dean's fears. The soft brush of leather heralding the weight of his collar slipping into place helped even more. Didn't even try to stop himself from clinging to Sam's shoulders and kissing back with enthusiasm as Sam lifted him enough to peel down his pants.

A whimper did escape when Sam drew back to take care of Dean's boots, then whisk the pants completely off. Had to look, and Sam grinned up at him, before rising to pull Dean's nakedness snug up against all his warm, soft leather. "Tell me your safeword." It was how Sam always began a scene, even if they'd gone a few steps beyond the mark already.

"Lettuce," he murmured into Sam's shoulder. Strong hands tilted his head back enough for another long kiss, then Sam turned him, bending him so his torso rested against the table top.

"Spread your legs wide, beautiful."

He obeyed and held still while his knees were tied to the table legs. Next Sam buckled on wrist cuffs, then attached them to chains dangling from a hook in the ceiling, pulling Dean's arms up and behind him almost, but not quite to the point of discomfort. Given the things Sam had been looking at, the lack of extremes surprised Dean, but he began to relax at finding out Sam didn't expect him to play Pretzel Boy.

Lips brushed between his shoulder blades in a silent check of the position's comfort and Dean assured him he was fine with a soft murmur. Obviously satisfied, Sam said, "You've been a bad boy, sweetheart. Let all your self-doubts rise up and hurt you when you know I don't tolerate anyone hurting you."

Oh, he was in such trouble. "Sammy," he whimpered.

"Hush, baby." His long fingers brushed against Dean's ass. "Gonna spank you hard, then fuck you even harder. Let everyone see how gorgeous you are with a bright red ass and my seed trickling out of your hole."

He moaned, his cock hard and throbbing at the thought.

"But first …" Sam walked over to the 'toy cabinet' and pulled out a third link of chain, this one had a large, blunt hook with a silver ball at the end dangling from it.

Oh, God. Dean's eyes widened. He'd never actually seen an anal hook before, but there was no mistaking it. An excited buzz swept through the crowd watching. The damned toy intrigued doms, but Dean knew most subs balked at the thing. But Dean's cock oozed at the thought that this was something special he _could_ do for his dom. Sam held it out to him. "Kiss it, baby. Show everyone what a good boy you can be."

He obeyed, even drew the metal between his lips and sucked on it while Sam fastened the other end of the chain overhead. Putting his cocksucker lips to work always earned Sam's approval, and their watchers seemed to like it, too. Also got the stupid metal warmed up.

Sam gave him a knowing smirk – his bratty ways around punishments no big secret between the two of them and an enjoyable part of their games. He claimed one last kiss, then moved behind Dean.

His head was at the wrong angle to watch, so Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds of Sam opening a bottle of lube before beginning a familiar dance with Dean's well-used hole. The hook only as wide as Sam's little finger, it didn't take much to get him ready, and he gasped as the metal slowly slipped inside him. Thing was big enough the end ball nudged his prostate when Sam settled it into place. Had to bite his lip to keep from coming on the spot, but he figured he'd earned a hard enough spanking without adding coming without permission to his offenses.

Sam's big, strong hands caressed his displayed bottom, then one drew back and … Dean yelped loudly at the first smack, but remembered to gasp, "One." Barely got it out before the second blow. Sam's hand swatted down over and over again, so fast Dean had to fight to keep the count. And it hurt. Damn, it hurt like a son of a bitch, the heat and sharpness of it flowing up his spine, and making his hole twitch and grasp at the hook inside him, even as it forced him to hold stiller than he ever had before. Pure torture. Pure bliss.

Dean kept counting, but he started crying, then sobbing, his body shuddering as the delicious pain made his cock drip and his doubts almost ooze out of his pores. He reached twenty, when a particularly sharp blow to the back of one thigh made him cry out, "God, Sammy, please!"

Sam swatted him again – two times even harder and faster – then slowed his pace as he asked, "Why are you being punished?"

He flushed his mind darting around a way to say what Sammy wanted to hear without saying it. Got him another spat of fast swats, and damnit he was not going to come without permission! "I forgot!" he moaned, wanting to arch up into the next blow, but his restraints held his bottom still.

"Forgot what?"

"That I'm beautiful!" And he knew he was in that moment. His eyes blazing green through a steady stream of tears, his ass cheeks swollen and throbbing. "I'm beautiful."

"What else are you?"

Oh, God, not this. Not with others watching, listening. Dean's cock oozed enough it was close to coming and the heat of a blush made him certain the cheeks of his face matched his abused bottom.

"Dean. What. Else. Are. You?" He punctuated each word with another swat and Dean couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm your baby!" He gasped. "Sammy's precious baby!"

Sam's hands instantly settled on his ass, pulling his cheeks apart. "Come for me, baby," he said, then thrust his tongue deep into Dean's hole.

He came with a scream, the room spinning at the force of it, his body soaring up into the clouds to float in a haze of pleasure like that stupid cartoon dog given a biscuit. He made a low rumbling sound Sam insisted on calling a purr, while his dom got him all wet and open, easing Dean through soft waves of delicious sensation.

The tongue withdrew, then Sam's cock entered him, sliding along the length of the hook, making it shift slightly with every push-pull. And oh, yes, he liked that, too, so he rumbled more through the handful of thrusts it took for his very aroused dom to spill his load deep inside Dean. And that? No matter how high their games took Dean, the sensation of Sam painting his bowels was always Dean's favorite part. Knowing he was sexy enough to make someone like Sam want him, make him claim Dean night after night, to feel so owned and wanted and loved … God, there was nothing like it.

He floated even further on the emotional high while Sam took his time getting Dean out of his restraints. Which kept Dean's leaking ass on display for anyone dumb enough to think anyone got to experience this but Dean. And even through his float-haze, it sunk in the looks turned his way were of envy and want, not mockery.

Because they'd played for years, Sam always seemed to know the exact moment when Dean came back to Earth and wanted some TLC. This time was no exception and almost before Dean could think he wanted Sammy, strong arms helped him sit up and settle on Sam's lap, his abused ass angled to not take his weight. "So beautiful," Sam murmured, around gentle, loving kisses, his arms snug and comforting around Dean. "Love you so damned much." Yeah, total chick-flick time, but whenever Dean came back from soaring he not only could tolerate the words, he craved them. Did his share of whispering them, too.

"My Sammy," he whispered. "Love you."

Sam's arms tightened, and they cooed at each other until Dean felt like he was ready to get out of here. Sam pulled a pair of soft worn sweats out of their bag and helped Dean pull them on. Hissed at even the brush of those against his battered flesh. Be at least two days before he could sit, three with any comfort. But that was okay. Sammy would take care of him, pamper him, love him until he was ready to hit the road again.

Sam even went so far as to scoop up the bag and weak-limbed brother to carry them both out to car. Dean loved many things about the Impala, but on a night like this, what he loved the most was the bench seat long enough for him to twist around enough to lay his head in Sam's lap on the way back to the hotel. Once they got there, Sam carried him into the room, and got him settled in the big bed.

They curled up together to sleep off both a successful hunt and a scene, but before Dean could drift off, Sam said, "I love you, and when you're 106, I'm still going to define beauty by you."

He sniffed. "Me, too." Of his own feelings he could be certain, but, much as he wanted to, he couldn't reassure Sam he'd never doubt what he meant to Sam again. Was just too damned insecure for that.

Sam pressed his lips against Dean's temple as if he could hear the unspoken words as well as the spoken. "Just promise me you'll tell me before it gets that bad again." His arms tightened around Dean. "Never want to see you cry again because you think I don't love you anymore."

That he could promise. "I will."

Another kiss and they both drifted off. The last thing Dean heard was Sam promise Dean was, "My world."

end

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find anything that talked about what it felt like to have a hook inserted or what it added to the party beyond esthetics -- just tons of warnings about the obvious need to not let a lot of weight fall on it -- so I guessed and minimized it while trying to include it. I hope it worked to some extent.


End file.
